


Succession

by SolaHaze



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Awesome Hungary, Graphic Description, Historical Hetalia, Historical Inaccuracy, I Hurt Austria Really Badly, I Made Myself Cry, Implied/Referenced Torture, Maria Theresa is a BAMF, Minor Character Death, Prussia actually has a Character Arc, Prussia is so Easy to Villainize, Roman Catholicism, Sad Wunderkink, Singing, Torture of a Minor Character, Women Being Awesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-27
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2019-03-24 22:36:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13820883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SolaHaze/pseuds/SolaHaze
Summary: What if Prussia hadn't just let Austria go after their first battle? What if he'd pressed forth towards Vienna to take the entire country? Based on the Austrian War of Succession, a darker twist on what could have happened when Maria Theresa became Archduchess of Austria.





	1. Death, Mourning, and Rebirth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I am so happy to finally be putting this out! (The title is kinda lame, but I doubt I'll think of anything better.)  
> This was Based on the war of Austrian Succession, mainly episodes twelve and thirteen of season three of Hetalia. I have worked so hard on this. It was originally going to be one chapter, but it was way too long. I'm finished chapter two, but not three, but I wanted to put this out because, frankly, I'm impatient.  
> I really wanted some interaction between Prussia and Maria Theresa. I also REALLY ship Austria and Maria Theresa, but there are so few fanfics of that.  
> Also, Maria Theresa's interaction with Austria may be different from their Anime relationship. They are closer, and if Austria seems like he doesn't like her it's because he's worried for her.  
> Anyway, this first chapter isn't much in terms of action, but it's setting up for the story. There will likely be three or four chapters. For now, please enjoy!  
> Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia or the War of Austrian Succession. It belongs to the brilliant Himaruya!

_**20 October 1740, Hofburg Palace** _

Even this close to death, his fingers still held the traces of warmth she held so near. The sheets were drawn up over his chest, and in his right hand he held a handkerchief which had once been white, but now was stained red with the blood the King had coughed up. His other hand held that of his daughter, whose cerulean eyes bled her grief in clear droplets, dripping down her pale cheeks, tainting them a faint rose.

"Papa..." Like an angel's whisper, soft and comforting, enveloping his ears in its gentle embrace.

"No, _meine Mäuschen_ ," he spoke quietly, his face blemished by the anguished dimples between his upturned brows. "Don't cry. It does not befit you."

She breathed shakily through her straight nose, her delicate, uncalloused fingers, clutching his rougher hand tighter. "Papa, what will I do without you?"

He squeezed her hand weakly in return. "Theresa, you know very well what you are to do," he said, his voice sounding weaker as if simply speaking drained his body. "I have been teaching you your whole life."

"I'm not ready..."

His pale lips turned down, and he raised their bound hands from the bedside, up to her face, using the back of his to brush the tears away with all the gentleness of a painter's brushstroke. "But you are." He smiled weakly. "Austria needs you. I've already decreed the Pragmatic Sanction. It's your time to succeed me."

Her eyelashes fluttered as she blinked the tears away. "I..."

But he silenced her with a single gaze. "Don't speak," he commanded. "Just listen: you must protect this land as I have. You must love it as deeply as you love yourself." He leaned closer towards her, only stopping when his body protested. "Raise it up, keep it from suffering. Protect its people."

"But..." the words felt thick in her throat, "...what if I cannot?"

His head tilted down, his eyes almost reaching out to grab her's, holding her gaze with a gentle firmness only a father could use. "You can. And you will. Everyone will support you. But in the end, you must hold this burden on your own. I believe in you-" He suddenly raised the handkerchief to his lips as a bought of violent coughing wrenched more vital fluid from his lungs.

She only stared at him at him, the tears falling anew.

He looked up at her, his red-stained lips turned up in a sad smile. "Oh, my little _Nachtigall_... may the Lord watch over you..."

A moment later, his hand went limp in her's, the warmth in his fingers gone... and Maria Theresa knew she was alone.

* * *

The next day was begun with the funeral ceremony. Three ceremonies. The first took place in the Palace Complex itself, in the Herzgruft of the Augustinerkirche, where the heart of Charles VI was laid to rest. Next, in the chancel of Stephansdom, where His Majesty's viscera was sealed away to rest forever more. Finally, the most important and solemn service of all, the burying of the King's body, which took place in the Kaisergruft beneath Capuchin Church. This was the most private ceremony, with only the attendance of the Emperor's immediate family, trusted advisers, the Palace servants, and the Church's Hierarchy, which included Pope Benedict XIV, the Archbishops, the Bishops, the priests, and the deacons. The only other people to attend were the National Personifications, who stood at the back, their heads lowered in respect.

Maria Theresa watched numbly, clothed all in mournful black with a veil shrouding her grief from onlookers. Charles VI's body was covered in the Imperial flag and carried by the King's most trusted up to the elegantly carved tomb in which he was placed to remain forever. No prayers were spoken. The entire ceremony was conducted in utter silence. Next to her, her younger sister, Maria Anna, cried soundlessly, dabbing her eyes beneath the veil she wore. Theresa wanted more than anything to reach out and comfort her, but monarchs must not show emotion in public.

Finally, only once the tomb was closed, did Pope Benedict XVI stand before it, lowering himself to kneel on the ground, his long red robes gathering on the floor around him. He spoke a prayer in Latin, appealing to the Lord for the King's safe passage to His side in eternal life.

"Amen," he finished somberly.

"Amen," Theresa echoed back with the attendance.

And with the closing prayer, the Queen-to-be felt her uncertainty grow tenfold.

* * *

  _ **22 November 1740**_

Maria Theresa stood stiff as a board, despite the words of the servants advising her to relax as they dressed and prepared her for the ceremony. They had put her into a long, draping dress with loose oversleeves and a pale blue bodice with a modest neckline that exposed the skin right above her collarbone, but nothing below. Upon the neckline were sewn the Edelweiss, freshly picked and in prime bloom, three of them, pure white, truly fit for a queen. The last thing to be added to the ensemble was a red cape, draped across her shoulders, so long it dragged on the floor.

Finally, she was prepared. Physically, not mentally. They had gone through a rehearsal earlier, but she still found herself at a loss for what to do. Austria never thought it necessary to have an official ceremony to crown the monarch, but Hungary insisted. And since women were deemed unfit to rule in Hungary, Maria Theresa would be crowned as the King instead. And it would all take place in St. Martin's Cathedral in Pressburg.

She thought of Austria. He had said nothing to her after the funeral, choosing only to greet her with a gaze or a nod when he saw her. She knew he didn't approve of her accession to the throne. She had known the Nation since she was a small child, and he likely still saw her as such. Perhaps he thought she wasn't ready. And maybe she wasn't. The Holy Roman Empire was facing turmoil and bankruptcy. Her father had spent more time negotiating alliances and securing signatures for the Pragmatic Sanction. He had clearly foreseen her accession, as the Sanction was meant to make her rule legal. She appreciated his efforts, but over time, their army had dwindled without his attention. They were already broke over the excessive wars with the Ottomans and aiding in the War of Polish Succession, and now all those problems would be thrown upon her shoulders. But she could not leave her kingdom orphaned.

The final ties fastened, the final hairs placed, she was ready, and not a minute later, she heard a knock on the door. When it was opened, she locked gazes with the purple-eyed man whom she adored and respected unquestioningly.

Austria bowed his head. "They are ready for you."

Maria Theresa drew in a breath, feeling her bodice tighten at the expanding of her lungs. It was time.

Maria Theresa's chest remained tight as she approached the doors to the chapel, escorted on all sides but her front by the servants who had dressed her. Inside, the entire kingdom would be waiting, ready to bear witness to the coronation. In an instant, she realized she had forgotten everything from the rehearsals. But a single glance from her beloved National Personification, and she knew: everything would be fine.

The servants opened the doors to the chapel, and Maria Theresa couldn't help the widening of her eyes. The Chapel was glorious, walls lined with red rolls of fabric, the Naves where the congregation sat carved of wood a deep brown, gilded chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. The chapel was illuminated by the lancet windows embedded in the walls, the stained glass casting in golden light that reached every inch of the room, reflecting off the shining marble of the Rood screen that separated the Naves from the Sanctuary, clearly carved with such care by hands of much experience.

Theresa had to force herself not to stare. As she entered, her dress making a slight rustling sound as it dragged on the carpet, the only sound in the silent room. The Naves were full, but no heads turned as she entered. All gazes remained fixed on the front of the Chapel as she walked toward the Presbytery where the Archbishop of Esztergom and the Count Palatine stood before the altar, on which laid the very relic she would have bestowed upon her today under the watchful eye of God, Himself. And as if symbolize that, the Reredos behind the Altar glinted the gilded light back at her, the depiction of the Virgin Mary smiling upon the approaching monarch, ready to fulfill her duty as the intermediary to God.

Maria Theresa stopped before the Presbytery and waited, the silence pressing upon her ears. The Archbishop turned and took from the altar the cushion upon which the crown of Austria rested, then he handed it to the Count Palatine, who stepped forth and lifted the crown to the air, showing it to all the people in attendance.

"Do the people of the Austro-Hungarian Empire accept the elect as their king?" He asked, his voice projecting, bouncing off the vaulted ceiling until it reached every corner of the Chapel.

This was it, Theresa thought. This was when she would be rejected by her people because she was not ready.

But to her surprise, the people replied: "Agreed, so be it, long live the King!"

The Count stepped aside, allowing Theresa to step before the Archbishop. "Your Grace," he said, "in the name of the Church, please proceed with the coronation."

There was no further exchange between them. The Archbishop looked at Theresa, his eyes searching her's, and Theresa wiped her face of expression as she waited for him to speak.

"Do you, Maria Theresa, agree to protect the Holy Faith?" He asked.

Theresa knew how she was meant to answer. "I will."

"Do you, Maria Theresa, agree to protect the Holy Church?"

"I will."

"And finally, do you, Maria Theresa, agree to protect the Kingdom."

"I will."

The Archbishop nodded once. "Please speak the Oath to the Austro-Hungarian Empire."

Theresa took a deep breath, feeling all the eyes in the room upon her back as she spoke. "I, Maria Theresa Walburga Amalia Christina of the House of Hapsburg, grant and promise in the sight of God and of the angels, I will protect the Holy Faith, I will protect the Holy Church, and I will protect the Kingdom."

She'd spoken the Oath. Now she was bound to whatever duties would befall her, whether the ceremony was conducted or not. She copied his movements as the Archbishop folded his hands and bowed his head, a rustling echoing through the Chapel as the congregation did the same. And the Archbishop said the prayer.

"Almighty and everlasting God, Creator of all things, Commander of angels, King of kings and Lord of lords. Hear our humble prayers and multiply Your blessings upon Your servant, whom in prayerful devotion we consecrate our king;" His voice cut cleanly through the silence. "May he please You in all things and always walk without offense in the way of justice."

Walk without offense... how could she do that as a woman, who rightfully did not deserve God's Blessing?

"May he nourish and teach, defend and instruct Your Church and people and as a powerful King administer a vigorous regimen against all visible and invisible powers and, with your aid, restore their souls to the concord of true faith and peace;"

Theresa felt the doubt seep deeper into her thoughts. Could she do all that was asked of her? Protect against all things and restore the souls of the faithless?

"That, supported by the ready obedience and glorified by the due love of these, his people, he may by Your mercy ascend to the position of his forefathers and, defended by the helmet of Your protection, covered with Your invincible shield and completely clothed with heavenly armour, he may in total victoriously triumph and by his power intimidate the unfaithful and bring peace to those who fight for You, through our Lord, who by the vigor of His Cross has destroyed Hell, overcame the Devil, ascended into Heaven, in whom subsists all power, kingship and victory, who is the glory of the humble and the life and salvation of his people, he who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit forever and ever. Amen."

She remembered the next part from the rehearsal. Theresa stepped forth and knelt down before prostrating herself before the altar, the velvet carpet soft against her skin. While the Archbishop prepared the next part of the ceremony, the Quire began to sing, in Latin, the Litany of Saints.

_Supplicatio ad Deum,_

_Kýrie, eléison._

_Christe, eléison._

_Kýrie, eléison._

_Pater de cælis, Deus._

_Miserére nobis._

_Fili, Redémptor mundi, Deus._

_Miserére nobis._

_Spíritus Sancte, Deus._

_Miserére nobis._

_Sancta Trínitas, unus Deus._

_Miserére nobis._

When the last resonances of the song finally faded, Theresa heard someone kneel on her right side. She felt him take her right arm and gently pull up the sleeve, then he began to speak the prayer as he anointed her forearm with oil

"God, the Son of God, Our Lord Jesus Christ, who, by the Father was anointed with the oil of gladness above his fellows, may He Himself by this present infusion of holy anointing pour upon your head the blessing of the Spirit Paraclete to penetrate into the innermost of your heart so that you receive by this visible and material oil invisible gifts..."

The Archbishop's hands were removed from her forearm, though the warm oil remained. Theresa had to force herself to remain still as the back of her dress was pulled down, only enough to reveal her shoulders. The Archbishop next applied the oil to the pale skin between her shoulders as he finished the prayer.

"...And finally having performed the just government of this temporal kingdom, you may merit to reign eternally with Him who alone is the sinless King of Kings, who lives and is glorified with the God the Father in the unity of God the Holy Spirit, for ever and ever. Amen."

Maria Theresa once again rose to her feet, the feeling of the oil strange on her skin, but she paid it no mind. Next the Church conducted the Gradual and the Alleluia, before the final part of the ceremony began: the investing. First brought forth was the Sword of St. Stephen. The Archbishop held it in both hands as he approached Theresa.

"Accept this sword through the hands of bishops," he said, "who unworthy, yet consecrated by the authority of the Holy Apostles, impart it to you by divine ordinance for the defense of the faith of the holy Church." He placed the sword gently in Theresa's outstretched arms. "May you be glorious in the triumph of justice and reign forever with the Savior of the world, who with the Father and the Holy Spirit, lives and reigns, forever and ever. Amen."

Theresa stared at the sword for only an instant, but in that singular moment, she could see her reflected in the gilded blade the image of a resilient young woman who was almost the Queen of Hungary. She breathed deeply, steeling her will as she gripped the blade and thrice brandished the sword.

The Archbishop then turned to the Count Palatine, who held out the cushion on which rested the Holy Crown. The Archbishop took the crown, holding it delicately by his fingertips as he turned back to Maria Theresa and placed upon her head the crown her father had worn only a little more than a month ago. Theresa released a breath she didn't realize she had been holding in as the cushioned crown settled upon her hair, adding yet another weight to her shoulders.

Next brought forth were the Scepter and the Orb. The Scepter was taken first, in the Archbishop's left hand, and Theresa's right wrist was taken. The Archbishop made eye-contact with her as he spoke the formula.

"Accept the Rod of virtue and equity. Learn to respect the pious and to intimidate the proud; guide the straying; lend a hand to the fallen; repress the proud and raise the humble, that our Lord Jesus Christ may open to you the door, and let he who is the Key of David and the Scepter of the House of Israel, be your helper;" he then pressed the Scepter into her palm, and her hand closed around it Jesus Christ, our Lord."

Then, in her left hand, the Archbishop placed the Orb, then he stepped back and Theresa turned to face her subjects as the Archbishop said the prayer to enthrone her. At once, her throat closed up. All eyes sat upon her, not a single gaze averted or distracted. She was the sole focus of the entire Chapel as the Bishop said the final part of the formula, but Theresa could barely hear his words over the pounding of her heart. _Breathe,_ she told herself. _It's almost over._

And finally, the people rose to their feet as the final prayer was spoken. All Theresa had to do now was wait.

"Inerrant God, King of Kings, Protector of the innocent and Vanquisher of sin," he said, raising his head to the ceiling as if he was looking up at the Lord, Himself, "we pray to You on this holy day to bless our people and our king, to bestow upon him Your divine power, and that he may protect Your Holy Faith, and serve as a vessel of Your awesome sovereignty as Father of Heaven. In Your Name, we pray. Amen."

Then, all at once, the people spoke, their voices joining as they had at the beginning of the ceremony. "Life, health, happiness, victory!"

And thus, the ceremony concluded.

* * *

The last part of the ceremony was conducted outside, at an artificial hill that had been constructed out of soil taken from all parts of the kingdom. Maria Theresa, in full regalia, rode on horseback to the top of the hill, and once there, drew the royal sword and pointed it to all four corners of the kingdom, swearing to protect it and all its people. And down below, the nobles and subjects alike joined to hail their new sovereign, crying "hurray" three times to pay homage.

Maria Theresa stood atop the hill, looking out across the kingdom. _Her_ kingdom, which she swore, not only to the people but to _herself_ , that she would protect with her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize now the Austro-Hungarian Empire didn't exist right now, but in the anime it said Theresa was crowned as Archduchess of Austria and Queen of Hungary, so, honest mistake  
> I loved making this story. I chose to modify Maria Theresa's personality a bit, as well as her relationship with Austria. The anime showed her to be so sure of herself, and very positive and determined. I showed her as, well, not really ready for the responsibilities thrust upon her, and still determined, but more because she has no choice. By the way, at this time, Maria Theresa was only twenty-three.  
> I didn't have time to mention it because it didn't fit comfortably in the story, but Charles VI died after returning to Vienna from a hunting trip across the Hungarian borders. He was poisoned by eating Death Cap mushrooms.  
> Kaisergruft is German for Imperial Crypt, a place beneath Capuchin Church where Austrian monarchs were buried. Herzgruft is German for Hearts Crypt, where the hearts of monarchs were buried.  
> Jesus Christ, this took a lot of research just for the coronation ceremony. The whole ceremony was enormously long, and I had to cut down some parts so I wouldn't end up with large blocks of text. Look on Wikipedia, and you'll find a lot of prayers and long speeches. Here are all the major parts I left out.  
> \- "who caused your faithful servant Abraham to triumph over his enemies, gave many victories to Moses and Joshua, the leaders of your people, exalted your humble servant David to the eminence of kingship, enriched Solomon with the ineffable gifts of wisdom and peace"  
> \- " that he, being strengthened with the faith of Abraham, endowed with the meekness of Moses, armed with the courage of Joshua, exalted with the humility of David and distinguished with the wisdom of Solomon,"  
> \- "who brings the captive out of prison, where he sits in darkness and the shadow of death, that in all things you may imitate him, of whom the Prophet David said, "Your seat, O God, endures forever; a rod of righteousness is the rod of your kingdom. You justice and hate iniquity, therefore, God, your God, has anointed you with the oil of gladness above your fellows,"  
> \- "Gird yourself with your sword upon your thigh, O most mighty one, that by it you may exercise equity, powerfully destroying the growth of iniquity and protect the holy Church of God and his faithful people. Pursue false Christians, no less than the unfaithful, help and defend widows and orphans, restore those things which have fallen into decay and maintain those things thus restored, avenge injustice and confirm good dispositions, that doing this, you..."  
> \- "Let your hand be strengthened and your right hand be exalted. Let justice and judgment be the foundations of your throne and mercy and truth go before your face. Alleluia. Ps. Have mercy on me,... Glory to the Father and to the Son and to the Holy Spirit. Let your hand be strengthened,..."  
> And the final part, where she turned to the congregation, to cut it down, I entirely removed the formula. But for those who wonder, it was: "Be steadfast and hold fast to that place of which you have become heir by succession from your forefathers, now delegated to you by the authority of Almighty God and transmitted to you by us and all the bishops and servants of God. May you be able to reign with Jesus Christ, our Lord, the King of kings and Lord of lords, who with the Father and the Holy Spirit lives and reigns forever and ever. Amen."  
> I hated that first prayer since the last part was too long to break up. It was all one sentence, so I couldn't separate it.  
> All of the prayers and hymns would have been done in Latin. I've put it in English because I don't want to put translation, and I don't trust myself to accurately translate English to Latin. A lot of the prayers in the ceremony weren't listed on the wiki page, and I couldn't find them on the internet, so I either skipped them or made up a prayer. The prayer I could not find was called "Inerrant God" so I made it up. Here is the prayer I made up  
> "Inerrant God, King of Kings, Protector of the innocent and Vanquisher of sin, we pray to You on this holy day to bless our people and our king, to bestow upon him Your divine power, and that he may protect Your Holy Faith, and serve as a vessel of Your awesome sovereignty as Father of Heaven. In Your Name, we pray. Amen."  
> Forgive me. I'm not Catholic. I'm Christian, but I did a lot of research into this. I'm sorry for any inaccuracies.


	2. Demands, Discord, and Downfall

_**11 December 1740** _

The journey back to Vienna was lengthy at best, though Theresa never took a single step the entire trip. After the Hungarians' festival and feast to welcome the new monarch concluded, it was time to return home, to greet the people of her kingdom as their new Archduchess.

Now she stood, with hair and dress so identical to the coronation ceremony, it looked as if it had only been minutes since the ceremony rather than weeks. They had even sewn on new Edelweiss. There, in the Hofburg Palace, she would, for the first time, be viewed in her full regalia as the Archduchess of Austria.

The balcony doors stood open, and the Archduchess heard nothing but silence as she stepped out, but the moment she came into view over the balcony, she was greeted by cheers of the citizens who had gathered by the thousands in the courtyard, waving the yellow and black flag of the monarchy, raising the coat of arms on banners, all staring up in adoration, raising their arms to her as if she was a god. Men, women, and children shouted, their voices joining in unified cadences of: "Long live the Archduchess of Austria! Glory to the Empire!" Theresa felt her chest tighten as she looked over all of her beautiful citizens. How much she wanted to protect them, to keep them pure... but could she?

After a minute or so, Maria Theresa turned and walked back into the palace with all the elegance that was proper of a queen. The first person she saw when she entered was a tall man with brown hair, one strand curling up, undeterred by gravity, his face unblemished save for the small mole below the left corner of his mouth. He wore a double-breasted navy blue longcoat that, though elegant, looked dull in comparison to her royal regalia. The frills of a pristine white jabot spilled from the neckline. Purple eyes gazed at her from behind wire-framed spectacles, reading the emotions on her face without fault.

"A little hard to take in?" His tone was light.

Theresa pursed her lips, nodding once. "A little."

Austria nodded back sympathetically, then paused. "Oh, forgive me," he then bowed lowly to her in a very formal manner as he corrected himself, "Majesty."

Theresa looked surprised, her lips parting slightly, but before she could do or say anything, quick footsteps came from the doorway. Theresa looked up to see a woman whom she recognized from the festivals after her coronation. She wore a puffy-sleeved green dress with a white apron and headkerchief tied over her long brown hair, a small pink flower tucked behind her right ear.

"Your Majesty," the personification of Hungary bowed, slightly out of breath.

Theresa watched as she rose up again, her cheeks flushed from exertion. "It's nice to meet you."

Theresa felt the need to point out that they had already met, but she knew this was custom after coronation. Had she run all the way there from Hungary? She certainly seemed capable of it.

"It's nice to meet you, too," Theresa replied with a small smile. These were the only people she could smile at specifically besides her sister. They would be the few people she could converse with normally now that she was a monarch.

Austria stepped forward, taking his place by Hungary's side. "Your Majesty, I believe it's time for you to meet the other Countries living in the Palace."

Of course, Theresa had already met them but never spoken very personally with any. However, now that she was the Archduchess, her life would have to begin all over again. Well, better not to procrastinate.

But before Theresa could speak, a loud, obnoxious squawking, with a quality akin to nails on a chalkboard, came through the balcony doorway. Theresa turned to see a rather plump bird with bright canary-yellow feathers fly through the glass doors, a white envelope clutched in its beak.

Austria's brow furrowed as he held out his arm, letting the bird land before taking the letter from its beak. It immediately sprung back up into the air, circling around the three as Austria looked at the envelope. It had a red wax seal with... "Oh no."

Theresa tilted her head, leaning forward slightly. "What is it?" she asked. Could it possibly be a belated congratulations letter from one of their overseas allies? But Austria's nervous frown told her something certainly was wrong before he even showed her the seal. In the wax was stamped the emblem of the House of Hohenzollern.

"It's from Prussia."

Theresa frowned slightly, but nothing more. She didn't understand why Austria looked so nervous. Prussia had fought with them in the War of Polish Succession. And their new King, Frederick II, certainly seemed like a proper gentleman. "Open it."

Austria pursed his lips but did what he was told, breaking the seal and opening the envelope, pulling out a white piece of paper. He took a moment to read the letter. "Oh, yes, it's definitely from Prussia. I'd recognize the illegible scrawl anywhere," he said disdainfully. "I'm not sure it's exactly what you'd call a 'happy note'." He held out the letter for her to take, which she did with new doubts rising in her mind.

He was right: the letter was written in scratchy, ink-speckled butchering of cursive. Much different from the elegant loops of her own hand. This looked more like the hasty scratchings of a teenager rather than a National Personification. The yellow bird continued squawking obnoxiously and looping overhead as she began to read.

 _'Guten Tag, Mrs. Maria Theresa,'_ was the opening sentence, certainly written by a different author than the rest of the letter, as it was written neater and was at least vaguely respective. From then on, the rest of the letter went off the rails.

_'Hello, Ms. self-proclaimed Queen,_

_I am Prussia and you are not. My awesomeness is exploding at a rate extraordinary even for The Great Prussia!_

_Anyway, congratulations on your inauguration and whatnot, I'm sure you're very happy, but we are not so happy._

_We openly reject your silly "Pragmatic Sanction", and therefore, do not recognize your leadership. Furthermore, your family has a lot of unkept promises to us that it has yet to make good on._

_Since Austria's clearly weak enough to have a woman on the throne, we'll be taking action and claiming what is rightfully ours. Oh, and Austria better not interfere or else we might just take the whole country!_

_Since I'm really strong and you are not, I think it's better if you just roll over like the weaklings you are. Otherwise, we'll attack you with awesomeness and laugh mightily as we destroy you!_

_From Prussia with love._

_P.S.: I'M AWESOME!'_

"What's rightfully theirs?" Theresa repeated, looking back up at Austria, who looked red with anger. "What does he mean by that?"

Austria's lips were pressed into a firm line, going white from the lack of blood flow. "He means Silesia," he ground out through a tight jaw. "It was an area promised to Prussia a long time ago, but when the time came to hand it over, Ferdinand I refused."

Hungary suddenly stomped her foot, crying in outrage. "How dare he call himself 'awesome' like he is some holy entity!" she shouted. "We should go stomp that jerkface right now!"

Theresa frowned. She had been so sure once she was coronated everything would get better, not worse. By now the yellow bird had swooped out the balcony doors, but not before plucking the pink flower out of Hungary's hair and carrying it off with it, much to the Personification's annoyance.

Austria sighed. Prussia was a very strong and rising power in Europe. Now was not the time to be rash. "Hungary, I think you should go back home," he said. "We'll deal with this."

Hungary's mouth fell open. "What?!"

" _Hungary,_ " Austria said in a firm tone before she could argue further. " _Now._ "

Hungary huffed, but stalked out of the room without any further argument. Theresa looked to Austria, worriedly wringing her hands. "What should we do now?"

Austria scowled at the balcony, where the bird had long since faded from view. "We have to take it to the council before we make any drastic decisions."

Theresa begrudgingly nodded in agreement, slightly hiking her skirt as Austria lead the way.

* * *

The council was made up of seven people, all men between the ages of thirty and sixty. The council room was very big and open, however, the only furniture inside was an eight-seated table, nothing more. Austria stood at the head of the table. On the left side, four men sat, and on the right, three, with Maria Theresa occupying the seat closest to him. Austria didn't have a seat, but he looked far too wound up to sit.

He had already passed the letter around for each man to read before it returned to the front of the table. Now, the meeting would begin.

"Prussia is threatening to seize my Vital Regions!" Austria exclaimed, holding up a clenched fist. "We'll gather soldiers immediately to counter their efforts!"

But the men at the table didn't share Austria's enthusiasm at the subject, only shifting nervously in their seats.

Theresa cringed slightly at his terminology. There had to be a better word to describe this, something less vulgar-sounding than "Vital Regions".

The man sitting next to Theresa, one with brown hair tied back in a ponytail and a cravat tied at his neck hesitantly raised his hand.

Austria nodded at him. "Yes, Josef?"

Josef's gaze shifted to the table nervously. "Excuse me, sir, but... we... we have a concert in March." His eyes flicked up to meet Austria's momentarily. "Will this fighting interrupt it?"

Theresa blinked. A concert? A concert was not more important than this!

The men on the other side didn't seem to agree with his logic but used it as a launching point for their own arguments.

"This isn't our concern," A spectacled man with wavy blonde hair spoke. "Silesia was Prussia's from the beginning."

The man to his right shouted out next. "Charles VI spent his reign trying to secure alliances, not prepare to fight!"

A blonde man nodded. "It's a dead end war. We couldn't win anyway," he said, looking away with a scowl. "We may as well give in to their demands."

Austria stared around at the men, his eyes sparkling with betrayal. But a fiery anger quickly took its place. "I will not bow down and hand over my Vital Regions to that _heathen!_ "

An older man with a brown mustache leaned forward, slightly deterred by the Personification's rage. "Sir, if we lose this battle, you will lose more than just your Vital Regions. You cannot risk it."

Another man with clean-cut brown hair nodded his agreement, the look in his eyes almost pleading. "For the good of the people, you _must not go!_ "

Austria opened his mouth to rebut, but hesitated, then closed his mouth with a sigh. "I... I suppose you're right," he said, scowling slightly. "The invasion will be allowed."

"What?!" Theresa stood from her seat, her eyes alight with fury. "Do you not know what Prussia will do to the people who live there?!"

Josef hesitantly turned to her. There's nothing we can do, Your Majesty," he said. "We must-"

"Silence!" She turned to Austria. "If we allow Frederick II to take what he wants, all the other countries will close in on us. We can't become weak-"

"I already _am_ weak!" Austria snapped back. He breathed deeply, trying to reign in his anger as best he could before he continued. "Forgive my boldness, Your Majesty, but your father left us entirely unprepared for War. He crippled us, and we will not let you be the one to bring us down."

She stared in disbelief.

"Do you understand what I am saying, Your Highness? _I_ do not support you, therefore the _people_ do not support you. And if the _people_ do not support you, we _will not go._ "

Theresa's lips parted, but she did not speak. He was right. He was always right. She steeled her expression, wiping the emotions from her face. "Very well," she said, turning to the door. "Do as you like. I only pray the people of Silesia won't be as submissive when death bears down upon them."

* * *

_**16 December 1740, Region of Silesia** _

It was a quiet day in Silesia. The schoolchildren had just gotten out and racing home to see their parents. The men were out in the work, and the women were at home, tending to things as they went along. There were no birds singing, for it was far too cold, but the occasional snow rabbit scampered by, leaving hasty footprints in the snow. A gentle breeze blew through, rustling the pines and bare branches that autumn had stripped of their leaves. Yes, nothing was out of the ordinary. Everything was calm.

That was why it was so unexpected when the sound of footsteps carried over the hills. Thousands of marching feet joining in unison across the white ground, and over the horizon, they appeared, moving forth with the single intent to conquer and destroy.

A man up in a watchtower stared, frozen in shock before he turned and shouted at the top of his lungs: "Everyone, move to the South! _Prussia is here!!!_ "

Over the fields, you could almost hear the spine-chilling laughter that followed the watchman's order, like a chaos god taking amusement in the terror of the people he was about to destroy. A small child no more than six watched as the black army raised three flags, one with three vertical stripes of red, white, and blue, one with three horizontal stripes, two red with a yellow one in the middle, a golden crown displayed upon it. And in the center, the most menacing of all, a white flag stained with the impure image of a majestic black bird spreading its wings, as though about to swoop down upon its prey.

The child tugged on his mother's skirt, too shocked to look away from the sight. "M-Mama, what's going on?"

The child's mother didn't answer, only scooped the child up into her arms and ran with the others, her only thoughts to keep her child safe.

As the citizens fleed, the Silesian soldiers began to set up a defensive front, lining with their muskets ready to shoot, each man prepared to die for Silesia. And die, they did.

Soldiers dropped like flies in the face of the first row of Prussian soldiers alone, the pathetically unbalanced odds almost laughable. The white snow soon turned red with the blood of the injured and the fallen alike, the final men standing having the sanity to run as the black wave finally descended upon them, but no one could flee from this inescapable darkness.

On the ground, a soldier coughed up red, a wound in his shoulder bleeding as he tried to stand, but could not lift his torso from the ground. His mind raced with absolute terror as the Prussian, Spanish, and French soldiers marched on the village. In the front, stood three men. An elegant man with sparkling blue eyes and silky blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, a handsome man with bright green eyes and brown hair cut short and messy, and between them stood... _him._

The white-skinned demon whose hair was ashen like smoke, and whose eyes were red as the fires of Hell. The creature whose lips stretched into an almost inhumanly wide grin, and whose nasally cackle rang out like a choir of nightmare creatures. His crimson cape waved in the wind as he approached, his eyes sweeping over the piles of bodies either dead or dying, and the soldier felt his heart stop when those bloodthirsty eyes fell upon him.

The demon chuckled as he stepped closer, the sound making goosebumps rise on the soldier's arms. Suddenly, in a flash of movement, the heathen's left foot came down, the soldier's chest pinned beneath his black boot, forcing a gasp from the man's bloodied lips at the rib-cracking pressure. The red-eyed creature gazed down at him, his thin lips upturned in a twisted parody of a smile.

"So this is it, huh?" the hellish monster inquired, his voice grating upon the soldier's ears, making him want to clutch his head. He gestured around at the bodies, leaning forward with a cruel grin. He shifted his weight onto his left foot, eliciting a strangled grunt from the soldier as his ribs screamed in protest. "This is all the fight you silly Austrians could put up?"

The soldier's breathing was ragged, hitching in his throat when the toe of the hellion's boot found its way to the musket wound in his shoulder. The soldier cried out as the leather tip dug in, causing fresh blood to spill out and pool in the pink snow. The fiend's screeching laughter rebounded through the village, so viciously mirthful as if he found some depraved glee in the soldier's torment.

"How utterly pathetic!" he crowed maliciously. "This so-called _'army'_ would make even my grandmother laugh!"

The soldier gritted his teeth, his eyes squinting open blearily to look up at the two flanking the unholy creature, the blonde and the brunette man. Would they just stand there and let this infernal beast tear away at the soldier for his own amusement? When would they finally kill him? He was already beginning to feel lightheaded.

Mercifully, the foot was removed from the soldier's wound. The red-eyed demon knelt down in the crimson snow, grabbing the soldier's cravat in his white-gloved fist, jerking the man upwards without mercy. "Hey, don't die yet, little soldier," the heathen mocked. "You Austrians have grown soft, haven't you," he sang in a sickly-sweet tone. "Your old Empire's become brittle, like a dry cracker, one which I'll gladly take as my snack before my world-domination meal!"

The soldier suddenly coughed violently, a few flecks of blood landing on the monster's face, but his smile only widened. "I can't wait to see your pitiful Region fall to the rising might of the Prussian Empire!" He finally released the man, making a brief motion with his hand, and the brunette Spaniard stepped forth, raising a battle ax, swinging it down into the soldier's stomach, where it landed with a wet _'thunk'_. And as the life drained from the soldier's eyes, the Prussian raised his sword towards the first village of the many they would soon conquer, the sweet scent of blood signaling the start of Silesia's downfall.

* * *

In barely a day, the entire region was on its knees before Prussia, exactly where it belonged. Those who resisted were killed, those who ran were dragged back, and in the end, with the final soldiers at musketpoint on the ground, the village surrounded, and the region occupied, the army looked to their beloved Personification for orders.

Prussia looked over the soldiers and civilians who had finally been beaten to submission by the brutal might of the Prussian Army. Hmm, what to do, what to do? "Get rid of the Poles first, then raise the flag," he ordered, a Cheshire smile adorning his pale features as he raised his sword in the air triumphantly. "Silesia is ours!"

The army cheered, swords, muskets, and battle axes raising to the sky in unison as the sound of the Prussians' victory carried loud enough to reach Vienna.

Now, Prussia stood atop the highest point he could find, a palace whose name he didn't know, and didn't care enough to find out. It stretched high above the village, giving him clear view as his orders were carried out. Left and right, those impure Poles were dragged forth and shot, maimed, and hung, their bodies dropping lifelessly to the sanguinary snow. Prussia's eyes swept over the Region, his Region, as he breathed in the glorious scent of victory. He had never felt so empowered in his life.

Behind him, the blonde and brunette, France and Spain, approached, their clothes dirtied and their hair askew, Spain's ax still dripping with the blood of some poor Pole he'd made victim of.

"The Region has given in," the Spaniard informed him. "Soon we'll mold Silesia to our image."

Prussia nodded but said nothing.

"Why so quiet, _mon ami?_ " France asked. "It's not like you to claim victory without a speech."

Prussia was silent for another moment before his lips twisted into a devilish grin. "I'm just eager to see if that _Queen_ will stand for this," he said, spitting the monarch's title as if it were poison. "Austria's always had a prideful streak." He turned back to them, displaying his blood-stained visage so casually it would make a murderer cringe. "I almost hope she attacks," he said, a demented amusement dripping from every word. "I would enjoy making the Little Master beg for his pathetic excuse of a life."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The date the ultimatum was given was December 11, but that's 19 days after Theresa's coronation, so I'm just going to say it was a long trip from St. Martin's cathedral to Vienna. Ugh, the struggle between following the anime or following history!  
> Also, the Austro-Hungarian(Hapsburg Monarchy) flag apparently was a simple 2-color flag with black on the top and yellow on the bottom. The one in the anime is the current Austrian army flag, and the one you'll find on google, the red and green one with the two crown emblems, was used by merchants.  
> I really didn't like the scene where everyone was like "make music, not war" so I made it more serious.  
> I was kind of hesitant at Austria calling Prussia a heathen, because the exact definition is someone who doesn't worship God, someone who's irreligious, unenlightened, undesirable, etc. Prussia is Protestant at this point in time, a religion that greatly confuses me, but I'm pretty sure it's a branch of Christianity, and clearly, he worships God, but I can see Austria, a Catholic, calling a Protestant unenlightened. Plus, Prussia is the definition of undesirable.  
> It was really fun to write that invasion scene, especially the part between Prussia and the soldier. I just wanted a moment to showcase how truly cruel he can be. If you noticed, the entire time I did everything I could to avoid calling him a "man", rather resorting to words like "demon", "fiend", "hellion", and "monster".  
> Also, you see how I parodied the end of chapter one in the way Prussia looks over Silesia. I did that on purpose.  
> Also, this is not at all how the Invasion of Silesia went, in fact, France and Spain probably didn't even partake in it, but I wanted to show a picture of how brutal Prussia was, and there was extremely harsh discrimination against the Poles.  
> And, believe it or not, some people were totally okay with Prussia's annexation of Silesia. Remember, it didn't happen all at once. There were three wars fought over Silesia, but this fanfic is not going to be very accurate in terms of timing.


	3. Fight, Flight, and Fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone, please keep reading until the end, because at the bottom of the chapter, I have an announcement!

Even in her dismay, Maria Theresa kept a straight back as she sat, reading some of the old letters her father had written her while on hunting trips in her childhood. The curtains were drawn back and the dreary grey winter sky provided just enough light to illuminate the pages.

Theresa's gaze turned up when she heard quiet footsteps padding quietly into the room. It was a small child with auburn hair, squinting eyes, and puffy cheeks, whose gender she could never quite put her finger on. They wore a green dress with puffy white sleeves and a white apron tied around their waist. Over their hair, they wore a white kerchief, with a strange curl of hair protruding from the left side of their head, sticking up despite gravity.

They approached her shyly. In the child's small hands was a silver tray set with a white teacup, a matching pot, a small pitcher full of cream, and a small metal cup filled with cubes of sugar. A few biscuits were arranged on the side. The child stopped before her, looking down slightly when they spoke. "W-would you like some tea, Y-Your Majesty?"

Theresa couldn't help but smile at the hesitance of the cute little child. "Yes, Italy," she said. "Thank you."

Italy nodded, then placed the tray on the table next to her. He stood up on his tiptoes, taking the pot's handle in his little mitts and pouring the fragrant tea into the cup until it reached a little more than halfway full. He placed it back down and very carefully added just the right amount of sugar and cream, knowing exactly how she liked it. All the while, he stood on his toes, just barely able to get his head over the edge of the table. When he was finished, he came back over with the cup and saucer in hand. "Here you go."

Theresa smiled, accepting the tea, and unable to resist the urge, lightly tousled Italy's hair through the kerchief. "Thank you," she said, reaching over to the tray and picking up one of the biscuits. She leaned forward slightly and held it out to Italy, who looked surprised. "It's alright," she said. "Take it."

Italy stared a moment. "Oh, o-okay..." he said, taking the biscuit. "Thank you," he said before he began nibbling quietly on the edges.

Theresa giggled quietly as she took her first sip of the tea. This was the first time she'd genuinely smiled since leaving that council room. She had been worrying herself sick over Silesia, even though there was nothing she could do. She hadn't spoken to Austria much, either, but she still concerned over him. He had seemed a little less than well the last time she saw him. Maybe he was coming down with something.

Just as she set the teacup down, the doors suddenly burst open, making Theresa jump. In ran a boy maybe twelve or thirteen, absolutely bursting with energy. He had ginger hair tucked under a Tyrolean hat, a brown coat over a white collared shirt, olive-toned trousers, and laced brown shoes. He was fair-skinned with a splash of freckles across his cheeks and nose.

Following him was the sound of a servant's voice. "The Archduchess is in there, you cannot just-!" Their voice was drowned out when the door shut behind him.

The boy approached Theresa, hastily bowing before rising back up again. "Good day, Your Majesty," he greeted with a big smile as he introduced himself. "Keiten Bote, Royal News Deliverer."

This was the Royal News Deliverer? He was merely a child! But if he was here, that must have meant there was news to be brought.

Keiten didn't wait for a response as he dug through his satchel, pulling out a roll of paper and unrolled it dramatically before handing it to her. "News from Silesia!"

Theresa stared at the paper, her hands shaking as she held it. She couldn't believe what she was reading. The Polish were being murdered, the language was outlawed, Catholic Churches were being closed down, and no one was permitted to leave. This was what they'd allowed to happen? And for what? To appease Prussia?

Suddenly, the doors burst open again, and two soldiers marched in, roughly grabbing Keiten in a harsh grip; Austria entered right behind them.

"Wait, stop!" Theresa exclaimed, rising to her feet and holding up the paper. "Let the child go, he was only delivering a message."

The soldiers looked confused for a second, but nodded, bowing. "Yes, Your Majesty," they said before escorting Keiten out of the room. The messenger waved to her before the door shut.

Theresa turned to Austria, holding up the news for him to see. "Did you know about this?"

Austria hesitated but looked down. "Yes," he admitted. "I knew long ago. I felt the invasion begin."

Theresa gaped at him, then brought the paper back up, her eyes skimming over it again. "This... this is preposterous! Prussia does not have the right to murder the people of Silesia!" Even if it was just the Poles, it was still wrong. She pressed a hand to her head, her brow creasing with worry. "Oh, why did we let this happen?"

Austria winced slightly at the anguish in Theresa's voice. "You were right," he said. "You were right the whole time. We shouldn't have let Prussia do what he wanted..." he frowned, taking a few steps closer to Theresa. This was the first time she'd noticed: he was limping.

"We'll go take Silesia back, no matter what it takes." It was a promise, Theresa knew, one he couldn't keep. He stood directly in front of her, holding her gaze with a serious intensity. "But if anything happens to me, you need to run," he said. "Go West. Hungary will protect you."

Theresa opened her mouth, but Austria turned away before she could speak, walking over to a display against the wall, of a sword and its sheath. Austria took the sheath and attached it to the belt at his waist, then he lifted the sword. Specially crafted, the gilded handle set with jewels of the Hapsburg throne, the silver blade bright and polished, catching the light as he brandished it, sharp enough to slice through flesh and bone. He sheathed the sword as he walked to the door, pushing it open soundlessly. He stepped into the doorway, but looked back, only for a moment. "Farewell, Your Majesty."

The door closed.

* * *

_**Mollwitz, Silesia** _

Austria tasted blood and he saw red. His uniform, once white and regal, was now tattered and blackened with dirt and gunpowder. The ground pressed against his back, hard and unforgiving, and against the red skies, the proud visage of the Prussian flag waved mockingly. All around them laid the ruins of stone walls, now completely unrecognizable from what they once were. The scent of smoke hung in the air.

A white-gloved hand tightly gripped his cravat, forcibly bending him forward, but a knee on his chest kept him down, forcing his spine to bend unnaturally. Austria's arms hung limp, useless in his exhaustion. If they had been usable, he would've used them to punch the smug grin off that gloating demon above him. Prussia leered down at him, flaunting his victory with that infuriating grin. He was completely untouched. His uniform was entirely intact, his tricorne hat still perched atop his head, not a bruise on him. He so completely contrasted Austria, whose face was smudged, glasses were askew, and hair was matted and tangled. His Imperial Sword was in the hands of one of Prussia's Generals, likely to be kept as a trophy of victory. How disgusting.

Prussia didn't chuckle. There was no need for subtlety or build-up. He outright laughed, his head thrown back, the sinister sound making Austria's scowl deepen. "Weak little Austria!" Prussia exclaimed. He tugged Austria forward, eliciting a quiet grunt at the strain put on the aristocrat's back. Nose-to-nose, Austria could feel Prussia's hot breath on his face, making him cringe in discomfort. He could count each of Prussia's eyelashes, see the highlights of his irises... The Prussian's white-gloved hand suddenly seized Austria's chin, turning his enemy's face back and forth to get a better look at him. "You really haven't changed a bit!"

Austria's nose scrunched in disgust as he roughly pulled his head away, trying to escape Prussia's grip. "G-get your filthy hands off of me!" he cried indignantly.

Prussia raised an eyebrow at the display, inclining his head with a chuckle. "Ooh, feisty! But no matter," he patted Austria's cheek patronizingly. "I'll teach you to respect me."

Austria's chapped lips pulled back from his teeth, a growl crawling up his parched throat. "I'd rather die than respect a coward like you!"

But Prussia only smiled, looking almost fond as he pulled back, and his gloved fist smashed into the pianist's cheek. Austria's head snapped to the side, his breath coming out in a gasp as stars danced in front of his eyes. He blinked, seeing a crack run across his vision, his glasses fractured harshly.

Prussia chuckled. "That's right, Austria," he gloated as the defeated Nation struggled to breathe evenly. "I'm in control. Now, why don't we go find your little queen? We have a lot to discuss."

* * *

Maria Theresa stared out the window of the high palace, feeling more worried than she ever had in her life. She hadn't looked away from this pane of glass since the army left, and she wouldn't turn away until the came back. But when she saw an army marching up to the palace, she knew it wasn't her army.

These soldiers wore black, not white, and carried brutal muskets and axes, not the elegant swords of her men. At the front was a man in a red cape, and behind him was... Theresa's hand clapped over her mouth to contain a horrified gasp. Behind the leader, Austria, her lovely Austria, was being dragged along in the clutches of two soldiers, either unconscious or too weak to walk.

It took a second to shake off her surprise. She knew what this meant. It meant it was time to leave, despite all of her instincts telling her not to. She had to escape, but to where? Austria had told her to get away, to go to Hungary, but she couldn't abandon her kingdom. But she had no choice...

The words of the Archbishop echoed back to her.

_"Do you agree to protect the kingdom?"_

Theresa swallowed.

_"I will."_

* * *

It took maybe five tries, but the soldiers finally forced the palace doors open. Prussia marched into the castle, his polished boots trailing dirt carelessly onto the carpet of the entry hall. Behind him, Austria was dragged along, bloody and beaten, by two soldiers. He didn't lift his feet, but if you looked close, it was clear he was still conscious, if only barely.

Prussia looked around the entry hall, pleased to see there were no soldiers here to oppose him. Those silly Austrians must have put all of the soldiers outside to defend the palace and left none to counter from inside. Of course, he'd expected nothing less from the Empire. He never planned ahead.

"Search the palace and bring the Queen here," he ordered, several soldiers saluting and moving quickly to carry out the search. Prussia licked his lips in anticipation. Finally, he had right in his grasp the key to becoming ruler of the Holy Roman Empire! And in a few minutes, that illegitimate Queen's signature would sign over to him more than just Austria's Vital Regions. Finally, he'd show that stuffy aristocrat who was the better Empire!

For all of ten minutes, they waited in silence. Prussia was only ever the patient type when it was one of those "good things come to those who wait" scenarios. This was not one of those, so when the soldiers returned with nothing, Prussia felt his impatience getting the better of him.

"Well?" he snapped, irritated.

The soldiers exchanged a hesitant glance before the shortest one spoke. "She's not here, sir."

Prussia stared at him for a moment as his brain comprehended that sentence. Not here? How could she not be here? That stupid Queen was far too uptight to leave her kingdom behind... unless _someone_ had told her to beforehand. Prussia whipped around, roughly seizing Austria by the front of his uniform. "Where is she?" he hissed venomously.

Austria weakly raised his head to look at Prussia, but rather than showing fear, Austria's mouth twisted into a knowing smile. "You'll never find her."

Prussia growled, throwing Austria back to the soldiers, who caught him in a bruising grip. Prussia's eyes narrowed as the aristocrat winced at the hold. "It seems you've forgotten who's in charge here," Prussia spat harshly before stepping back. "Show him what happens to those who defy me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted some Maria Theresa-Chibitalia interaction. That was my own little form of wish fulfillment. You guys don't understand how much I nitpick and panic over my own story. I was debating whether it would be more accurate to have milk in the pitcher or cream.  
> Also, I added Mr. Newspapers because I needed someone to give the news, and it just made sense. Of course, I edited his appearance, and his personality is vague. They say he's a big megalomaniac, but I put my own spin on him to mock newspapers: always spreading gossip, drumming up the big stories, presents doom and gloom in an almost fashionable way. I also gave him a human name from the German "News" and "messenger" separately rather than "Mr. Newspaper" which would be "Herr Zeitung". The German for "News/tidings" is Neuigkeiten and "Messenger" is "Bote". So, I got Keiten Bote (Keiten means Opportunities. So, his name means "messenger of Opportunities")  
> It's hilarious how Prussia says "He never plans ahead" and a moment later realizes Austria DID plan ahead. I feel Prussia was a little OOC with how angry he got, but jeez, Austria's a BAMF! Poor little Wienerschnitzel...  
> Okay, so, after this story, I have three more planned to begin, and I want you to review with which one you think I should write first.  
> The first One I call "Convert or Die", and is about the Lithuanian rebellion against the Teutonic Knights, put into a slightly darker tone.  
> The second is a lighter story called "The Swiss Knight". It's basically your classic "rescue the princess" story where Liechtenstein is a princess kidnapped by the evil Sorcerer, Britain, and her brother, Switzerland, must become a knight to go rescue her. It's a lighter story since you can't write a darkfic when Liechtenstein's involved.  
> The third is a Human!Au story called "Escape Together", and it came from my strange urge to write Latvia x Ukraine. Raivis is a servant escaping from an abusive master and he meets Yekaterina, an unwilling prostitute who's trying to escape a Brothel in Moscow.  
> So, don't forget to tell me which one you wanna see first!  
> (P.S. if anyone wants, after this, I can write the deleted scene of Austria-Torture. If anyone's twisted enough to want that, let me know.)


	4. Fallen, Found, Forgiven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really struggled with this chapter title, and I still think it sucks. If you can suggest a better one, please do.

Theresa's footsteps grew slower and slower as exhaustion caught up with her. How long had she been running? Had she ever even had any prior experience with physical activity before now? She needed to stop, to rest, if only for a minute.

_No,_ she told herself. _You can't stop._ If Prussia found out where she was going, he would be right behind her, and if he reached Hungary before her, all was lost... but she was so tired. She finally slowed to a walking speed, hoping the tightness in her chest would dissipate in due time. She was almost there, so close to the borders of Hungary. She needed to get there so she could convince the Hungarians to send reinforcements to Vienna. It was all the hope she had left now.

Walking was certainly easier than running. If she just kept walking, she would at least cover some ground. But, when she heard a rustle in the trees, she paused instinctively, listening intently, her anxiety growing. What if they were close? She had to move. Her walking resumed, at a faster pace than before. But before Theresa could get twenty feet, she stopped right in her tracks. Ahead of her, from the trees, stepped a pale man wearing a red cape, his hair icy white, his eyes blood-red, and his thin lips twisted into a sinister smile.

"What's the hurry, Your Highness?"

Theresa stepped back, reeling with shock. Prussia tilted his head with a smug grin as he stepped forward, the gravel of the path crunching under his black boots. How? How was he here? How had he known?! She wanted to step back, but her feet were rooted to the spot.

Prussia smirked at her anxiety, looking her up and down as he stalked around her like a predator. Theresa didn't dare move. He had a sharp sword sheathed at his belt. If she ran, he could cut her down in an instant, and she didn't think National Personifications could be charged with regicide.

"So, you don't even run?" His voice spoke from behind her, amused and confident. "So, you've finally realized you don't stand a chance."

Theresa kept her head down as Prussia stalked back around to face her. He considered her for a moment, and Theresa couldn't help but feel uncomfortable. His eyes saw right through her facade. She saw his boots enter her field of vision, only a foot away from her own feet.

"You're afraid, aren't you, Your Majesty?" he sneered mockingly. "But not of me. You're afraid you're weak. That you'll never be fit to rule-"

Her head snapped up to meet his sneer with a glower. "You're _despicable_."

Prussia almost looked taken aback, like he hadn't expected her to speak at all. But her hateful words bounced right off of him, and he raised his eyebrows with a haughty grin. "I'll take that as a compliment."

The nerve of him. Her eye twitched.

He continued with casual condescension. "Kind of hypocritical. You call _me_ 'despicable', yet _you_ abandoned your Kingdom." He then chuckled, as if at some inside joke. It made her suspicious. "Luckily, the Little Master was willing to help us find you and bring you back."

Wait, what? Austria told them where she was? But Austria wouldn't do that... unless...

Her eyes widened in panic, the image from before flashing across her mind: the Prussian Army marching on Vienna, and Austria dragged along unconscious behind them. When she spoke, her voice shook. "What... what did you do to him?"

She didn't look at his face, but she could hear the smugness in his voice. "Well, I started by breaking his fingers..."

Theresa's chest tightened, the sound of Austria's beautiful piano compositions floating to her mind from when she'd sat for hours on end as a child listening as the man played, gently caressing the keys with all the tenderness of a lover as the piano sang back to him, soft and sweet. Austria's nimble, uncalloused fingers...

Sensing her distress, Prussia only pushed further. "Then my soldiers beat him bloody..."

Theresa felt lightheaded.

"...Or... _bloodier_."

She couldn't comprehend what she was hearing. Her beautiful Austria, her country, had been beaten... because of her. She was hardly even aware of Prussia watching her until he said his last piece.

"Finally, I broke both his legs." He said it with such sickening casualty. "I might've blinded him next, but the moment I dug my heel in, that weakling was begging for mercy."

Theresa felt her eyes begin to water.

"You should've heard the things he said, the way he _screamed_ , praying, crying for help, singing _Ave Maria_ , and I don't think he was praying to Our Lady." The words surfaced images in her mind, ones she doesn't want to see.

Her face turned down, twisted in a grimace of guilt and grief. Despite her best efforts, she felt tears slip down her cheeks. How could she have let this happen? It was all her fault.

Prussia cackled at the emotional display as he continued pacing around her, stopping when he stood behind her, out of her field of vision. She cringed when she felt him lift a strand of her hair, curling it loosely around one finger. "How strange... women don't normally wear their hair down... but you don't follow societal standards, do you?" He released the strand. "And look where it's gotten you."

He stalked around her a few more paces, returning to her field of view. But she didn't dare look at him, not wanting to see his pale, demonic face. That's truly what he was, wasn't it? A demon. Only a demon could be so cold-hearted and cruel. But she felt two gloved fingers beneath her chin, forcing her head to rise and her blue eyes to gaze straight into his crimson irises, so vivid like they had been stained with all the blood he'd spilt, painting them a hellfire of sin and sadism.

"Look at me, Queenie. Look long and hard," he whispered. "Look at all your mistakes reflected back at you, all your stubbornness and the misery it wrought. This could have been avoided if you had surrendered, but you fled like a coward. You're truly unfit to be a queen."

"All I see is the coward _you_ have become."

Prussia blinked, staring at her for a moment, but her venomous words only bring a smile to his lips. "You wound me," he says mockingly, placing a hand over his heart. He stepped back, snapping his fingers and Theresa looked back and forth as soldiers begin emerging from the trees, gathering behind her. "Now, why don't we go discuss things further in Vienna," he asked, offering her a white-gloved hand in mock-chivalry.

If she took that hand, she admitted defeat, and she knew it.

But before Theresa could either accept or refuse it, a loud _'thwack'_ rang out, and Prussia's eyes widened slightly before closing as he crumpled to the ground, revealing a seething Hungary behind him, her cast-iron skillet held poised to strike again if needed.

Theresa stared in shock, and not a second later, Hungarian soldiers charged onto the scene, ready to fight. How had they known she was here? Hungary grabbed Maria Theresa by the arm, pulling her away from the fighting. Theresa stepped over Prussia's inert body and followed as Hungary pulled her behind a tree, shielding her from the flying muskets and blood.

Hungary's breathing was heavy, her face flushed. She looked so much different than before. Instead of her dress, she wore a green tunic and breeches with a white coat over top, a gold sash over her shoulder, and a black tricorne perched slightly crooked atop her disheveled hair. Theresa stared at her in amazement, taking a moment to open her mouth and speak. "How did you know?"

Hungary huffed and puffed a moment before she looked up. "Austria and I are an Empire," she said, taking a moment to catch her breath before she straightened up. "If Silesia was taken, I'd feel it too." Theresa's lips parted in awe. The National Personifications always fascinated her to no end.

Once the sounds of clashing swords, muskets firing, and men crying in pain had ended, Hungary peeked around the tree, then motioned for Theresa to follow as she stepped out onto the path. Theresa followed but froze mid-step when she came upon the sight of many dead soldiers, mostly Prussian. Her wide eyes looked over the scene with the utmost disgust. However, Hungary stepped up to the battleground with no reaction other than a _smile_. "Now we'll go retake Vienna and save Austria's little Happy Place!"

The soldiers cheered in response.

Theresa averted her gaze from the bloody bodies lying on the ground, but she couldn't help her eyes straying to Prussia, who still laid on the ground, a noticeable bump rising beneath his hair. "What about him?" she asked timidly.

Hungary looked up, following her gaze to Prussia. She put a hand to her chin in thought as she stepped up to Prussia's side as if pondering what to do with him. Then, without warning, the angry Hungarian's boot connected with the Prussian's head, the momentum knocking him onto his back. His face was covered in dirt and blood flowed from his nose.

Hungary spat on him brutishly before straightening her hat. "Leave him. We'll conquer him later." And with that, she turned away from the fallen enemy and lead Maria Theresa forth, the army in tow as they began the march back to Vienna, where victory would be reclaimed at last.

* * *

"Victory! Victory!" chanted the citizens as the Prussian flag was taken down, brutally torn, and finally burned to ashes as the Hungarian army marched on the Palace. The Prussians had taken a little over half of their army to pursue Theresa, so the ones left behind were completely overwhelmed.

Hungary kept Maria Theresa close by her side as the doors to the Palace were forced open. Upon entry, chaos reigned as Prussian soldiers made a last-ditch effort to protect themselves, but ultimately were shot, heavily wounded, or surrendered. Theresa looked across the entry hall with a gloomy expression. What once was graceful and elegant was now a mess of blood and shattered glass. But despite the vases shattered into shards and the carpets torn up and shredded, there was one thing in the center of the hall, right before the stairs. One thing that was more broken than anything else in the room.

Maria dashed forth, dropping to her knees before a soldier, bloody and beaten, laying on the ground. Her fingers trembled as she gently cupped his face in her hands. He looked up at her with bleary purple eyes. Her heart clenching painfully at the sight. "Oh, my sweet Austria," she whispered, pulling him close to her chest, only to stop when he released a quiet whimper. Her brows creased and anguish enveloped her voice. "What have I done?"

His white uniform was tattered, soiled with blood and dirt, his ivory skin stained red. Across his jaw and temples, bruises bloomed. It was amazing his nose wasn't broken. On the ground laid his glasses, or what was left of them. They had been crushed, the glass of the lenses shattered, the wireframes deformed and twisted.

His once perfect, silky hair was disheveled, matted with dirt. Even the one curl that normally stood straight up, the one she had adoringly nicknamed his little 'Wunderkink', sagged miserably.

His clothes hung off of his body loosely, rumpled and undignified, hiding the bruises Theresa knew laid beneath. But his collar has been ruthlessly pulled open, the buttons torn off, and his throat was ringed by bruises shaped like fingerprints. The lower down his body she looked, the worse it got. His white gloves had been removed, and his fingers hung useless, broken and mangled just like Prussia had said. Theresa mourned the loss of the lovely music he would not play until they were healed.

He winced every time he moved, and from his ragged breathing, she knew a few of his ribs were either broken or cracked. Prussia and his men had really beat Austria to death... that was if National Personifications could die. His legs were bent at odd angles, ones clearly unnatural of any creature on earth. He wouldn't be able to walk... for how long, she didn't know.

Finally, her gaze returned to his face, still cradled in her soft hands. His eyes looked so dull and lifeless, glazed over from the tears that had dried on his cheeks, leaving lines through the dried blood. And his lips, once soft and supple, were dried and cracked, bloodied and split.

Her beautiful nation. How could this have happened to her lovely, darling nation, so precious and pure, who didn't deserve any of this suffering? But he had gone through it all... for her. Theresa sniffled, her eyes watering. She leaned forward, carefully pulling Austria close, not wanting him to see her tears, but he knew she was crying. He always knew.

She rested his forehead against her chest, wrapping her arms gingerly around his shoulders as she sobbed into his hair, guilt plaguing her very soul like a burning fire. But then, she heard a noise. Austria's voice, speaking softly, but his words came out as a croak. "D-don't... cry..."

She blinked, looking down to see him smiling weakly up at her. "I-It's n-not... befitting..."

Theresa shook her head, gently resting her beloved's head against her chest once again as she held him close, running her fingers through his hair as she recalled a lullaby her mother sang to her as a child.

_"Schlafe,_ mein _Prinzchen,_ schlaf ein _,"_

Her voice shook, but she felt Austria instantly relax at the sound of the song.

_"Schäfchen_ ruh'n _und Vögelein,"_

She felt his breathing even out.

_"Garten und Wiese_ verstummt _,"_

And he sunk deeper into her embrace, like a child cuddling their mother after a nightmare.

_"Auch_ nicht ein _Bienchen_ mehr summt _,"_

The nightmare was over now. She promised that to him.

_"Luna_ mit silbernem _Schein"_

Her precious little Austria... even in such ruin he was beautiful.

_"_ Gucket zum _Fenster herein,"_

So very beautiful, indeed.

_"Schlafe_ bei silbernem _Schein,"_

How she adored him so... Austria had finally settled comfortably, his pain forgotten, if only for the time being.

_"Schlafe,_ mein _Prinzchen,_ schlaf ein _,"_

And at last, sleep descended upon him, wrapping him in its peaceful embrace.

_"Schlaf_ ein _,_ schlaf ein _..."_

She looked down, carefully pressing a kiss to his forehead as he dreamed silently.

_Never again, my little prince,_ she promised him. _Never again will anyone hurt you. I love you, my little prince. Sleep well..._

* * *

_**Königsberg, Prussia** _

Prussia winced at the tightness of the bandage Saxony wrapped around his head. He sat on a stool whilst Frederick II stood across the room, staring out the window with his back turned to his Nation. Prussia winced again as Saxony tied the ends off. "I'm telling you, Fritz!" he exclaimed. "I had her, but then that stupid Hungary knocked me out with her skillet and retook Vienna while I was down. I had the Treaty waiting right there in the Palace. I wouldn't have lost if she hadn't gotten involved."

"They're a _Commonwealth_ , Prussia," Frederick II said coldly. "She had no _choice_ but to get involved."

Prussia flinched quite unawesomely at the ice in his King's voice. "Fritz, give me another chance," he pleaded. "I thrashed Austria once, I can do it again-"

"No," his Boss interrupted. "Austria may be weak, but the Hungarians are defending his borders, and they're pressing forth into Silesia as we speak."

Prussia blinked, his mouth hung open. "You don't think they'll try and invade, do you?"

Old Fritz glanced over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised, his lips curled into an amused smile. "Don't tell me you're afraid of a _woman_ invading your Vital Regions..."

Prussia sputtered indignantly. "N-no, of course not!"

"Good," Fritz replied, turning back to the window. "Because it might just happen."

At that, Prussia's jaw just about hit the floor.

Frederick II pulled the curtains over the glass as he turned to face Prussia, his expression serious. "Our troops have pulled back from the lower regions of Silesia in hopes to appease the Hungarians into at least letting us keep the upper half as a buffer zone, but they demand bloodshed."

Prussia scowled at the floor. That Hungary always had been vengeful... he looked back up. "Then we'll meet her head-on, and this time we'll capture her _and_ Austria!"

Frederick II's frown deepened as he sat down in a chair across from Prussia, taking in the Nation at eye-level. "We lost thousands of men in that attack-"

"And we have thousands more!"

Fritz suddenly seized Prussia by the shoulders, jostling him in his seat. "You must stop this brash behavior!" he shouted harshly. "Men are not just pawns to throw at the enemy as you please!"

Prussia blinked, taking a moment to compose himself. "Well, the Hungarians aren't going to stop at Lower Silesia," he said in a grim tone. "So, what are we going to do?"

Frederick II held his gaze for a moment, then, with a sigh, he released the Nation and leaned back. "Prussia, I think it's time we formed an alliance..."

Prussia blanched. "You're not telling me you're thinking of marrying that _Queen_ , are you?!"

Fritz scoffed. "Heavens, no!" he exclaimed, almost humored that Prussia would even think that. "However, though you may be a rising power, you can't go unsupported," he explained. "There are plenty of countries to the East who we could join with. Perhaps Bavaria."

Prussia shuddered slightly at the offer. "I don't know... he's a little nutty."

"Yes, but he hates Austria, and that's all that matters." Fritz leaned forward, clasping his pale hands. "I need you to trust my judgment on this, Prussia. I know you like going about your way, unrestricted and wild, but it's time to take some more responsibility."

Prussia frowned. He was right. Joining with another country would officially put his conquering days to rest unless he found someone war-hungry enough. He didn't want to become like the Hapsburgs, Austria, a stuffy piano player and Hungary, a domestic housewife. They had no ambition and it disgusted him. If you didn't plan to invade and conquer, you might as well hand yourself over to the stronger countries. But now he had a vengeful Hungary nipping at his heels and a weakened army dragging him down. It was either this or he'd have to hand his awesome country over to Austria.

Prussia sighed. "Fine. I'll... I'll trust you, but I still want Austria under my boot."

He heard a quiet chuckle. "I'd have nothing less." Fritz smiled, rising from his seat, a more confident air around him. It was infectious, and Prussia felt himself feeling more sure of himself by the second. "Don't worry, by the time Hungary gets here, well have quite the force to counter their attack." His grin darkened a shade. "They won't see it coming. And once she's down, we'll make sure those Hungarians never _think_ of attacking us again."

Prussia smiled, his spirits thoroughly uplifted by his Boss' pep talk. "You really are Great, Fritz."

Fritz chuckled, shaking his head slightly. "Go get yourself cleaned up for negotiations with Bavaria."

"Yes, sir," Prussia responded confidently, jumping to his feet, but he swayed at the fast movement, lightheaded from the head injury. Fritz grabbed him by the shoulders, steadying him before he could fall. "Th-thanks," Prussia said, pressing a hand tentatively to the bandage. "I'm gonna get Hungary for this."

Fritz couldn't help a fond smile at the Nation's impulsiveness. He handed Prussia over to Saxony, who helped him stand. Prussia threw him one last grin as they walked away, one that told Frederick II he was still the same egotistic loudmouth he would always be.

And Prussia swore, no matter what, he would make Fritz proud. If he had to kill the Hapsburgs, he would. If he had to conquer the entire Holy Roman Empire, he would. If he had to _die_ , he would. Whatever his Boss asked for, he would receive. Prussia would make sure of that. And neither Hungary, nor Austria would stand in his way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm reading Robin Hood, and they mentioned something about "Our Lady". I looked it up, and apparently, that was what they used to call the Virgin Mary. I used that here.  
> I always noticed how inaccurate it was that the anime showed Maria's hair down when women didn't do that at the time.  
> I feel so terrible for hurting Austria, but I did it all off-screen, so at least I don't hate myself quite as much.  
> "Schlafe, Mein Prinzchen" was a lullaby from 18th century Germany, not Austria, but I assumed the two Empires would have a somewhat influence on each other. It was so beautiful, I had to put it in. Go listen to it. It's lovely.  
> To be honest, coming to the end of this story, I'm not quite sure what Austria and Theresa's relationship is anymore. Is it like friends, a parent and a child, siblings, lovers? I don't even think there's something you can compare this to. I just know that it's adorable!  
> And, yes, I put a pun in there referencing to Frederick the Great.  
> And there's Prussia's little character arc. Not only is he a sadist and a narcissist, but he also craves his Boss' approval, and will do anything to get it. That doesn't mean he didn't utterly enjoy beating the crap out of Austria, but he always pushes himself above and beyond because he worships Frederick II and would rather die before he disgraced him. See how he's worried Fritz plans to marry Theresa? It's because it would shame him as a sign of defeat. Why do you think he even wanted Silesia to begin with? Because it was rightfully owed to the House of Hohenzollern, and he would get Silesia for his Boss if it was the last thing he did. It's sweet in a way.  
> And that's the whole story! Please review and share, I hope you enjoyed it!  
> I might write a sequel to this if people want. I'll have to make up my own plotline, though. But if I do, it will most certainly include SOME PruHun.


End file.
